Weak
by Weird Writing Nerd
Summary: "Fail, and nothing will ever be the same." Based on Inktober 2019 Day 8 prompt: Frail.


"You failed to keep your 'friend' in check. Your failure cost us our home."

Sasha rolled her eyes as best she could where she lied. First time Grime spoke to her since she came to, and it was for a lecture. Great.

"The army does not tolerate failure. The army does not tolerate weakness."

He wasn't looking at her. Fine. Two could play at that game.

"Weakness has no place in our midst." He exhaled. His breathing wavered. "And so it has been decreed, for hundreds of years."

The way Grime almost faltered didn't escape her notice. Almost made her look. She didn't like it. She didn't like the way he stayed quiet for longer than usual, either.

"You may stay until your wounds heal."

Sasha's eyes shot open. She forced herself to not look. To not move. No matter how much she wanted to.

"Not a second longer."

She heard the tent's flap opening, and heavy boots against mud growing distant. She waited until she couldn't hear it anymore before she allowed herself to look. When she turned her head, the tent was empty. She was alone.

It was fine. She was fine. She could still breathe. Her fingers weren't going numb. Her chest wasn't squeezing in on itself. Her breakfast didn't rise to the back of her throat. She could do this. She'd get through it. She'll be fine.

Everything will be fine.

* * *

Day thirteen, Sasha woke up with no aches, no dull throbs, and no lingering stings on her cuts. She had no problems breathing whatsoever.

She garbed herself with her armor – surprised they'd let her keep it – and walked out of the medical tent with her head held high. The world stopped, eyes turned to look, and she kept walking. This, she was used to. For a moment, she pretended she was back in school, walking past the lockers, and not a makeshift military camp.

"Commander?"

And just like that, the moment was gone. No one ever called her 'commander' at school.

Sasha turned to look. The voice was Braddock's. She carried a burlap sack in her hands and a nervous glint in her eyes.

"This'll probably piss off the captain but, here." Braddock held the sack out to her. "We managed to scrounge up some spare supplies. It's not much, but that could mean a lot out there."

A few toads in the crowd perked up. A few others sent her a firm nod. In the back, Percy saluted her. The idiot.

Sasha sucked in a breath. Braddock practically shoved the sack against her chest, so she finally took it. "Thank you," she said, walking away without a glance back.

Sasha kept her gaze on the ground as she walked. Boots moved out of the way, forming a barrier to her left and right, leading her to the edge of the camp. Real helpful.

She heard someone gasp. A wave of whispers erupted all around her. A pair of heavy boots stepped in front of her path. Familiar heavy boots. Sasha had set her brows to a glare when she looked up. Grime was there, his expression unreadable, set in stone. In his hand was a red sword. _Her_ red sword.

The moment stretched for an eternity, the silence deafening. Suffocating. Grime made the first move; Sasha flinched away at first, until she realized he'd only held the sword out to her, hilt first.

"Take this," he said. "You've earned it… Commander."

Sasha hesitated, giving Grime a questioning pause, but wrapped her hand around the hilt. She had to put effort to wrench the sword from his hand. He had it gripped tight. Like he didn't want to let her go.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't look at him anymore. At any of them. She brushed past Grime, hiding her face. It took everything in her to not run as fast as her legs could carry her. To not look bac

She destroyed their home. She'd brought them to their lowest point. They had to kick her out because some stupid code said so, but they still helped her. They all did, even Grime. She didn't deserve them. She didn't deserve Anne. She didn't deserve anything.

The world was better off without her.

Sasha kept walking even after the camp was well out of sight. Kept walking when the burlap sack slipped out of her fingers. Kept walking as the sun went down. Kept walking under the red glow of the moon. Kept walking as sunshine crept up over the horizon. Kept walking when the concept of time became unimportant to her. Kept walking until there was nowhere else to walk.

It was as if she was startled back to reality. She was on a cliff, standing a mile above where waves crashed against rocks in perpetuity. Open ocean stretched before her, blue and sparkling. It reminded her of Anne. The wind was strong up here, pushing her closer to the edge. Goading her. Convincing her.

She tried it with the sword first. Dropped it over the edge and watched as it fell, crashing once, twice against the cliff face, before the waves consumed it in roiling white. Not a trace of it left.

It would be so easy to let go. All she needed was one step, two steps, three-

Something grabbed her by the shoulder. A hand. She couldn't tell if she was relieved or angry.

Sasha looked over her shoulder. Her breath was caught in her throat.

"Marcy?"

* * *

**This ended up being a lot sadder than I intended. And I don't really know where to go with that cliffhanger ending? Hope you still liked it though.**

**Based on Inktober 2019 Day 8: Frail.**


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